


ubi amor, ibi dolor

by x (ordinary)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece & Rome, Gladiators, M/M, Name Changes, Unresolved Sexual Tension, derek is a gladiator, peter is the emperor, stiles is his slave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 08:56:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/620341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ordinary/pseuds/x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Petronius' smile was stretched wide, but it was delicate like gold filigree, and Dericus knew that even the smallest disagreement would set him off. "Your slave," he'd said, so delicately, tearing the flesh from a shoulder of a lamb with his teeth. The grease dripped down his fingers, gleaming an ominous orange-red in the light of oil lamps. "Stylianos, is it not?" Dericus clenched his fists, arms shaking with the effort to remain still. He nodded with a stony face. "So pretty," he'd crooned, and Dericus did not need to see the glint in the Emperor's eyes to know the simple compliment was a threat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ubi amor, ibi dolor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [noplzno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noplzno/gifts).



> my knowledge is 100% google acquired, if you have suggestions/crit on naming conventions or other inaccuracies, please do leave a comment and help me out!
> 
> and, as a fair warning, i've changed names to fit the era/locale. if that bothers you, turn back now! i know it's a pet peeve for some people. <3

They were baying for blood, and it didn't matter whose. Dericus circled his downed opponent and licked the blood off his teeth, reveling in its coppery tang. His pain was proof he was alive: from his split lip to his sprained wrist to the gash on his side, where his leather jerkin hadn't saved him. Dericus kept his breathing even and steady, struggling with the sick adrenaline from a pending victory prematurely flooding his veins. The crowd howled impatiently, demanding their pound of flesh and more. He just wanted to shout 'Haven't you had _enough--'_

No, Dericus thought, shifting his blade from one hand to another. He already knew that he was going to cater to their whims, but he knew that it wouldn't be enough. The Haruspices would poke through the livers of rabbits and state that it was fate, but Dericus knew it was simpler than that. He was a fool (and a cursed one) but even he would not cross his uncle, the Emperor Petronius. After Dericus cut one enemy down, the Emperor would surely send another, be it man or beast or some unhallowed terror.

Because if he did not...

Petronius' smile was stretched wide, but it was delicate like gold filigree, and Dericus knew that even the smallest disagreement would set him off. "Your slave," he'd said, so delicately, tearing the flesh from a shoulder of a lamb with his teeth. The grease dripped down his fingers, gleaming an ominous orange-red in the light of oil lamps. "Stylianos, is it not?" Dericus clenched his fists, arms shaking with the effort to remain still. He nodded with a stony face. "So pretty," he'd crooned, and Dericus did not need to see the glint in the Emperor's eyes to know the simple compliment was a threat.

The injustice made the gladiator's blood boil, and a howl of rage tore itself free from Dericus' throat, guttural and raw. The crowd swallowed up the sound, immediately lost in their screams. He had stalled long enough: they had been patient. It was time.

Dericus closed in on his unconscious foe, reluctant but determined. Normally a killing blow was enough to satisfy them: he'd been a gladiator long enough to read the crowd, to predict what they desired. But this battle....this battle had been too swift for the crowd's liking. It had not been drawn out in a game of lion and mouse, drawn it out to make them think that they had a shadow of a chance. He knew what he had to do.

He brought the blade down with a crash, metal hitting flesh with a sickening crunch, passing through skin and muscle and sinew and _bone_ , Their incoherent cries washed over his skin like the sheen of dirt-sweat-grit, and Dericus bared his teeth, face turned upwards. He reached down with a gloved hand, fisting his fingers into hair stiff with blood and dirt, raising the severed head into the air.

The air swelled with noise, his victory celebrated with music and rejoicing. He threw the head down onto the dirt, spitting on it, eyes seeking out the box where the Emperor sat. Dericus could barely see him from the ground, but his amusement was clear in how he politely clapped, forever restrained while in the public eye. He stood, and although Dericus could not see his uncle's smirk, he knew it was there. He proclaimed that the day's events were over, after three lions and two men had been downed by his nephew, Dericus. There was more to the speech, there always was, but the gladiator slunk away, returning to the corridors at the ground level of the Colosseum.

His slave was waiting. Dericus watched him quietly, for a time. This area was devoted to the combatants, and as Dericus' slave, Stylianos was expected to wait there. Despite that, the gladiator's heart jumped at the sight of him, swelling with feelings he did his best to suppress. His burgeoning affection was already obvious to his uncle's eyes, and so Dericus could not afford to tip the scales in one direction or another. He had to keep up the charade.

So he watched, his expression easily slipping into a practised scowl. Today, Stylianos had a number of scrolls laid out in front of him, was poring over each of them with an alarming intensity. Dericus watched the pink of Stylianos' tongue, stuck out in concentration as he read his texts. The curl of his fingers, the colour of his lips. Dericus inhaled, his breath rattling in his chest, and swallowed a smile as his slave jumped into the air. He turned to Dericus with a grin, bright and unlike Petronius' in every way, his honey-golden eyes lighting up at the sight of him.

It pains to do this, to be continuously callous, but it would be a worse pain to lose him.

"Inattentive, as always, I see." He forced his lip to curl again despite the split in it. "Put the reading away. There are more important matters to attend to: my injuries, primarily."

Stylianos' face fell, and he mutters an acknowledgement, gathering up the papers with none of the care he'd used to read them. He crushed them into a stack, callously shoving them into a leather satchel on the floor. Dericus claimed where they had been on the bench, sitting heavily. His bones felt as though they were of stone, heavy and immovable.

He is afforded one luxury. This Grecian slave, remarkable and intelligent and full of adoration that went unspoken between them. He has never asked to be a freedman, and from Stylianos' tales of his deceased parents, Dericus understands that this boy has nothing to return to. Dericus has had him for three years, but he was a slave long before then. Dericus has this one luxury at his fingertips, eager and willing, and yet he cannot indulge. Stylianos gently wiped Dericus' face with the warm cloth, cleaning his skin of blood and sweat, quiet all the while. He can feel the nervous energy within his slave, for it is not his nature to be silent. Around other slaves, he was always talking, always moving, graceless yet utterly intoxicating.

The gladiator tilted his head back, eyes sliding shut as his slave carried out their post combat ritual. He ached to reach out and grasp Stylianos' free hand, to twine their fingers together, to slot their mouths against each other. To murmur his love to him.

 

Instead, he closed his eyes and thought of ripping out the Emperor's throat with just his teeth.

 

**Author's Note:**

> the title translates to 'where there is love there is pain'


End file.
